


Marvels and Skeptics

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ghosts, Kissing, M/M, Paddling, Rain, Spanking, Spiritualism, Storms, Trains, seances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erik Lehnsherr embarks on a journey, encounters a new and fascinating companion, and (contrary to his expectations) does no debunking whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to pocky_slash for beta and encouragement.
> 
> The last two tags (spanking and paddling) apply only to the second chapter, which is not part of the main story.

It was a cold night, and a stormy one. The mud ran through the streets, crowded as they were even in the worst of weather in this city, and though he had dressed carefully and left his home feeling rather fine and impressive, by the time Lehnsherr reached the train station he felt utterly bedraggled and not a little foolish - a situation that was not improved in the least by having to run the last of the distance in order to catch his train before it left without him.

"Almost missed it, sir," the attendant said, taking his ticket. "Last one aboard. You're a lucky man. There's not another going out before the morning."

Lehnsherr was well aware of that, of course, but he nodded nonetheless, as if the man had given him any sort of useful information.

The train was not very full. As Lehnsherr made his way to his assigned spot, he found himself alone in his car, but for one other man in the far corner. Lehnsherr kept a careful eye upon him as he settled into his seat.

The man sat with his head leaning against the window, his eyes closed and a peaceful expression upon his face, though it was hard to say if he was in fact asleep. He was dressed very well, in clothes that Lehnsherr guessed to be both frightfully expensive and well-tailored, though he wore them with the same careless, thoughtless comfort as a working-man in his union suit. There was not a speck of dirt upon him that Lehnsherr could see, nor a single splash of rain. There was a heavy watch in his pocket, on a golden fob, of a make that felt curiously old-fashioned to Lehnserr's senses, and his wallet, too, was packed full of gold and silver coins.

However many years might pass, one's childhood could never be left completely behind. This man, Lehnsherr thought wryly, was exactly the sort he would have chosen as a mark, back in the day - rich enough to be worth the risk, but possibly soft enough that he wouldn't prosecute or call for the thief's neck. There was a trick to pickpocketing, an art, and some boys learned it quickly and some didn't; those who didn't never lasted very long. Lehnsherr had a knack for it from those first days, which was how he survived. Survived, and eventually moved on, off the streets and upwards - all the way up to today. Look at him now, sitting in a first-class train carriage, dressed in fine clothes (the merest rags next to his fellow passenger, perhaps, but shockingly opulent compared to how he had grown up), on his way to a fine estate, where he had been invited by a rich and elegant lady.

If one didn't know any better, Lehnsherr thought, he might almost take me for a gentleman.

It was an amusing thought, and he let his lips twist up in a slight smile as he reflected upon it. 

Oddly enough, the smile of the sleeping man across the car seemed almost to mirror his own, in the brief second before Lehnsherr turned away.

* * *

The station was barely a station at all, the stop the merest pause on the tracks. The train was off again on its route almost before Lehnsherr had grasped what had happened. He stood under the rather short eaves, a few scant inches of wood protecting him from the downpour, held his suitcase in one hand, and looked down the track, where the train was nowhere to be seen. There was very little at all to be seen, in fact, even with the light of the lamp beside him: rain, and darkness, in every direction.

"Pardon me," said a voice from behind him, disconcertingly bright, "but are you by any chance headed to Xavier House?"

Lehnsherr turned. The speaker was none other than the man from the train. He was shorter than Lehnsherr had thought.

"In fact, I am," Lehnsherr answered civilly.

"As am I!" the man said. "Here, it looks like they've sent the carriage out over this way, if you'd like to follow me...?"

Though following had never been one of Lehnsherr's more favored activities, it was certainly preferable than standing there aimlessly, and so he trailed behind the man until they reached the carriage.

Another surprise: the driver of the carriage, rather than being the cranky and crotchety old complainer Lehnsherr would have expected, annoyed at being sent on an errand on a night like this, was instead cheerful and obviously pleased beyond measure to see the other man, whom he greeted exceedingly warmly.

"I take it you've made this journey before," Lehnsherr said, rather dryly, once the two of them had settled themselves comfortably into their seats and their journey had begun.

The other man smiled at that - add yet another surprise, Lehnsherr thought. "What gave me away?" He stuck out his hand, leaning across the vehicle. "I'm Charles Xavier, by the way."

Lehnsherr took his hand - his skin was cool, his grip firm. "Erik Lehnsherr. Is it your home we travel towards, then? I was under the impression that it was Miss Darkholme's estate."

Xavier shook his head. "No, no. I grew up here, but the house belongs to Raven - Miss Darkholme. She was my stepfather's ward, and we grew up together as brother and sister."

It was not much of an explanation, but then, Lehnsherr didn't deserve one. He was a stranger, after all. "Ah," he said.

Xavier smiled again. It was, Lehnsherr thought, a particularly winning smile, even in the dim light of the carriage; he couldn't help but wonder how greater it might appear in sunlight. "I am a scientist by profession, and I find I travel a lot in my studies. I just finished up a year in Boston, and before that, England. I suppose this _is_ home, in a manner of speaking, for it's the place I always find myself returning to."

Lehnsherr nodded. There was no place like that for him, but he could appreciate the idea. They sat in silent understanding for a moment. Lehnsherr took the time to examine Xavier's face further. That Xavier was well-made, Lehnsherr had been able to ascertain in the train, but the degree of his favorability was a surprise. The animation alone, that spark of life all through his body, bringing a new delicacy and attraction to all his features. His eyes and lips were colored so strongly it was hard to look away from them. 

Despite himself, Lehnsherr found himself thinking of the boys he had visited in the past. The last boy had reddened his lips to nearly that color, with paint he'd borrowed from one of his female associates, and when he had finished with Lehnsherr, there had been crimson marks up and down his prick; they had both laughed at the sight. That had been nearly a year ago now, Lehnsherr thought, slightly surprised - but then, he had never sought them out often. Only when the loneliness and the need of his body became too much to bear. The comfort was always short-lived, at any rate; there was something sour about the act of love being made into a business transaction, and he was always too aware of how young and underfed the body beneath his was, still trapped in those poor parts of the city Lehnsherr had somehow managed to escape. He paid double, always, and never the same body twice.

Odd thoughts to think, with this gentleman across from him, rich and educated and proper. There was certainly no paint on his face. Likely he knew nothing of such deviant acts.

Xavier cleared his throat and said, "And what brings you out this way?"

"Miss Darkholme has invited me to be present at the seance she is holding tomorrow," Lehnsherr said. 

An expression passed quickly over Xavier's face, hinting at disappointment. "A seance?" he repeated.

Curious, thought Lehnsherr. "You don't approve?"

Xavier looked away, frowning. "As I mentioned, I am a scientist. Naturally, it doesn't please me to hear of people falling prey to such superstitious and shameful poppycock. I'm surprised Raven would put such a thing together, actually."

Lehnsherr eyed him carefully for a long moment, and then said, "Surely you can understand the impulse that drives people under such circumstances. I don't think you can blame a grieving widow or mother for grasping at the slightest possibility that they might learn something of those they've lost."

The noise Xavier made was considering and noncommittal. He leaned back in his seat before he spoke again. "Is that why you've come to the seance, then, Mr. Lehnsherr? To seek out the loved ones you've lost?"

Unbidden, the images sprang to his mind. His mother's sickbed, emptied but still smelling of the sour, unwashed flesh of her last days, because he couldn't bring himself to wash it when it was all that was left of her. Kneeling down in the ashes covering the lot where the squalid apartment building had stood, where he had lived with his wife and infant, until the fire. 

Sometimes Lehnsherr might wish for the ability to believe, as others did, in that divine other world, where the departed could speak again through those who still remained in this realm. Perhaps, it was possible, somewhere and somehow - Lehnsherr had never pretended to know all the mysteries of the universe. But what he did know was that the world was full of fakes, con artists, and grifters, people who had no scruples about taking advantage of others' desperation, fear and love in order to make a fortune. It was those people who were the answer to a large number of mysteries, and Lehnsherr knew that better than anybody. It was what he did, after all.

"No," Lehnsherr said finally, after a pause he knew was rather too long. "No, it is a different truth altogether that I seek."

* * *

That was the last they spoke during their ride. They reached Xavier House soon after, where the housekeeper was waiting up for them. She greeted Xavier with the same simple joy that the driver had given him, and when Xavier enfolded her into a hug it took her a moment to remember decorum, and remove herself and address Lehnsherr with the news that the mistress was gone to bed hours before, but looked forward to meeting with him in the morning. She lead Lehnsherr to his prepared room, leaving Xavier behind - of course, Lehnsherr thought, he would need no guide to find his own familiar quarters.

Lehnsherr woke the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. Rising, he took the opportunity to examine the room in more detail than he had during the night, when he had done little more than fall into the waiting bed. It was luxurious, certainly, to a degree he had never before experienced. If this was the sort of accommodations they gave to him, he could only imagine how they housed their important guests. 

He had slept through the arrival of the maid to set the fire in the early morning, which he wondered at; he was, on the whole, an extremely light sleeper.

When he opened the curtains and looked out upon the grounds, he found that it was later in the day than he had imagined, and that the sun was already high in the sky. Though it was sunny, it was not a cheerful sort of sun, but rather the weak and insipid sort that only seemed to emphasize the dampness of the earth, the dreary leftovers of last night's storm.

Two voices - one male and already familiar, the other female and new to him - grew louder as Lehnsherr made his way towards the breakfast room. He paused just outside the door, listening.

(There were many men who would never dream of stooping to such dishonorable behavior as eavesdropping. Lehnsherr had never been one of them.)

"-but really, Raven, a _seance_?" Xavier was saying. Lehnsherr could almost see, in his mind's eye, the distasteful wrinkle of the nose that surely accompanied his words. 

"You're always such a snob, Charles," replied a young woman - obviously Miss Darkholme. 

"Come now, I know you think it's nonsense, too. You must; I know the last time I saw you you still possessed the capacity for rational thought. Though I suppose I have wondered at times over the years..."

"Oh, don't." Lehnsherr could hear the sound of Miss Darkholme scraping her knife across her toast. If he reached out from within himself, he could feel all the silver in the room, solid and excellent quality. "Of all people, I should think _you_ should realize that there's more out there than people think."

"That's a completely different thing, and you know it," Xavier was saying. He sounded almost sulky, of all things. 

There was quiet after that, and Lehnsherr took that as his signal to stop his lurking and enter the room himself. 

Miss Darkholme was young and lovely, with fine, even features and golden hair. Lehnsherr had expected - he was not sure what. A bluestocking, perhaps, but there was no hint of that in her elegant clothes or charming demeanor. He felt the same vague discomfort around her he did in the city, when he passed by the groups of rich young ladies in the street or the stores, delicate and untouchable and utterly foreign to everything he had experienced. Her correspondence had been intelligent, though, and he reminded himself as he ate that she was a person, living, breathing and thinking just as he himself did. 

It was easier, somehow, to concentrate on that than it was to allow himself to focus on Xavier, seated across the table, bright in the morning light. Lehnsherr could make out details in his face now that had been absent last night. Freckles, for instance, particularly the twin ones dotting his prominent nose - but that was as far as he gave himself permission to notice before forcing himself to stop looking, apply himself fully to the polite discourse with Miss Darkholme. Even then, he thought he could feel Xavier's own thoughtful gaze weighing down upon him.

At the conclusion of the meal, Xavier excused himself, and Miss Darkholme offered to show Lehnsherr to the library. He accepted.

As they walked through the halls, Lehnsherr said, "It's none of my business, I suppose, but I wonder why you haven't told your brother your plans for the seance."

"You suppose correctly," Miss Darkholme said, one eyebrow raised, "it _is_ none of your business." Her words were sharp, but her tone was friendly and full of humor, and in that moment Lehnsherr liked her much more than he had previously. She continued, "Charles will figure it out soon enough - in fact, I'm surprised he hasn't already. In the meantime, it's a rare thing that one gets a chance to keep a secret from him, and I always cherish the moment when it does occur."

She smiled at Lehnsherr, and he found himself smiling back.

They reached their destination. Miss Darkholme stood back by the door, watching with a naked curiosity as Lehnsherr strode through the room, examining it.

"This is where it will take place?" Lehnsherr confirmed.

Miss Darkholme nodded. "What are you looking for? She's not even arrived yet, never set foot on the property, so there's no way she could have set up any of her tricks in here. It's just a room."

It took Lehnsherr some time to consider his response. "To you, it is just a room," he said. "To the medium - and thus to me - it is a stage. This is where her performance will be conducted. Where you see your familiar furniture and books, I see possibilities. I have witnessed enough seances and readings in my career to know most of the common frauds. Looking at the room like this, I can see what she will see, too: the ways those frauds will fit most easily into the space you've provided."

Miss Darkholme nodded again, looking thoughtful, and Lehnsherr returned to his task.

* * *

He took a walk afterwards, alone on the grounds. The sun was still shining, but there was a chill in the air, augmented by a strong autumn breeze. The colors everywhere were brown and orange, the leaves mostly on the ground rather than on the trees. Lehnsherr could understand why people disliked the season, why they found the landscape desolate or uninspiring, but he himself thought it had its own sort of deep beauty, much closer to his own tastes than the shallow prettiness of spring.

It was in this fashion that he first saw Xavier House in all its splendor. It was much larger than he thought, and grander. In fact, it rode the fine line between magnificence and ridiculousness. It was almost too much. It could be the setting for a Gothic novel, one of those awful ones filled with innocent maidens and evil worldly counts and all manners of shocking depravities, hinted at just enough to titillate but not spoil the proper girls who made up their readers.

Those proper girls, and Lehnsherr, of course, for he had read enough of those in his day, too, hadn't he? Miss MacTaggart had taught him to read on schoolboy primers, but he had left them behind quickly; his adolescent anger and bitterness (too late, too late, his mother was already gone, he was already lost, what need did he have for this do-gooder trying to save him?) had fought with his instinctive thirst for knowledge, and knowledge had won. He had read everything he could get his hands on, from novels to the newspaper that came wrapped around the fish.

He took his time walking back, and when he reached the entrance again, Miss Darkholme was there to inform him that the medium had arrived and left, too, in the time he was away. The seance was canceled.

"Gone?" Lehnsherr repeated. 

"Indeed," Miss Darkholme said. Her lips were pursed, showing the same irritation that he could hear clearly in her voice. "Apparently Charles had a talk with her before I came downstairs."

Lehnsherr was confused. "I understood that this was your house, not his. You were the one who hired her, were you not?" he said. "What right does Mr. Xavier have to dismiss her?"

Miss Darkholme shook her head. "You misunderstand. Charles didn't dismiss her. No, my brother sat her down for a sincere, life-changing chat. Madam Sterling hasn't just cancelled our seance; she has retired from the profession altogether. Presumably she'll go upstate and dedicate her life to good works and helping orphans and never stray from the straight and narrow again."

There was something in Miss Darkholme's tone that Lehnsherr didn't entirely understand. It did not quite approach bitterness, but there was a sharpness that echoed through her irony which caused him to wonder a little at her and Xavier's relationship. He reminded himself that their lives were no business of his - and after all, it wasn't as if he was particularly well-versed in familial relationships. Lehnsherr kept to himself, and himself alone.

"I take it that you will no longer be requiring my services, then," Lehnsherr said.

Miss Darkholme bit her lip. "No, I suppose not. There's no need to hurry out, though - you can stay as long as you need to..."

"That won't be necessary," Lehnsherr said. He bowed and turned to make his way up to his room.

* * *

Xavier did not knock or otherwise announce his presence before barging into the room. 

Lehnsherr was occupied in packing his luggage. There was not a great deal of it, though the servants had been quite thorough in the unpacking process. He spared a look up at Xavier when he burst through the door.

"Surely you're not going yet!" Xavier exclaimed breathlessly, against all the evidence before him.

In response, Lehnsherr raised an eyebrow. "I'm certain you've gathered that I did not come here on a social call, Mr. Xavier. My job was to expose a fraudulent spiritualist. My services are obviously not needed, under the circumstances." He closed the lid of his case. "There's no reason for me to stay here any longer than necessary."

"Oh, but there is," Xavier said. He was hanging onto the frameway of the door, clutching the wood. His body language appeared almost nervous, at odds with the confidence of his manner of expression. 

"And what would that be?" Lehnsherr challenged.

Xavier opened his mouth and then stopped, looking uncertain. "I don't know how to phrase this, I'm afraid," he said slowly.

Lehnsherr huffed a breath. "You've already sabotaged my job, Xavier. What more do you want from me?"

"I didn't - you're wrong, you know, about what I said to her. She isn't going to go off and pull this scheme again, I can assure you of that."

"You have no way of knowing that."

"I do. I can," Xavier said. He had moved forward while they were speaking, closer to the bed where Lehnsherr stood. His hand was on the brass bedpost, light fingertips brushing across the metal as he spoke earnestly. "Don't you believe everybody deserves a second chance?"

Lehnsherr said, "No."

Xavier's eyes were wide, and though Lehnsherr wanted to look away, something in Xavier's gaze stopped him. "The thing is, Mr. Lehnsherr," he said, "you're not alone in this."

His first reaction was to recoil from the unexpected words, but Lehnsherr managed to hold himself still, even stiff. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Xavier smiled, small and sweet, and said, "It means I know you." You know nothing about me, Lehnsherr thought but didn't say. "I know what kind of man you are," Xavier continued, and part of Lehnsherr braced himself for the facts of himself, spilled out in harsh words like he should somehow consider them insults ( _foreigner, Jew_ ) before Xavier said, "You are like _me_."

He could not look upon this man and imagine any way in which they were alike, and so he stared at him, unseeing, until Xavier licked his lips; and then a thought rushed through him, just as it had last night in the carriage.

"Oh-" said Xavier, "no, no, that's not what I meant - though you're not wrong in that, either - but no, that wasn't what I was referring to at all." Xavier sighed and ran his hand through his already mussed hair. "I know about your gift. What you can do with metal. It's extraordinary, and it's beautiful, and I've never seen anything like it. I've never met anyone like you."

A wave of heat went through Lehnsherr at the words, and his fingertips tingled. He had never told another person, not since his mother; she had smiled at his childish fumblings, cooed over them and told him how special he was, and in the next breath told him to keep it a secret, tucked in safe and close.

Lehnsherr spoke through a thickness in his throat. "You said I was like you. What do you mean by that?"

"I have a gift, too," Xavier said, smiling once more. "Unlike yours, it's based on mental abilities, not physical. But I can read the thoughts of others, and send them my own thoughts. There's more, but those are the most important, I suppose."

"Telepathy." Lehnsherr was familiar with the concept. He had acquaintances who worked through the Society of Psychical Research, had witnessed their experiments on thought transference as well as ghosts. They had never found any compelling evidence, but he found himself admiring their principles: wise enough not to accept the ridiculous, but willing to keep an open mind if the science proved otherwise. 

Lehnsherr said: "Prove it to me, then."

 _What manner of proof would satisfy you?_ Xavier said, but his mouth did not move, and Lehnsherr realized that he had not voiced the words at all, but rather sent them directly into Lehnsherr's mind. It should have been startling, but instead it felt somehow natural. Speaking aloud now, Xavier said softly, "I realize that your skepticism is a formative part of your character, but this... This isn't a parlor trick for me, you see. This is my very self."

A memory bloomed in Lehnsherr's mind, conjured up from smoke and fog. It was not his memory, he realized immediately, for he could see himself from the outside, entering the train carriage and sitting down. He was thinner, taller than he thought himself in his own mind; more imposing and forbidding. And yet he could feel the immediate affection rising up as he watched - not his emotion, but _Xavier's_. He hadn't realized the other man had even opened his eyes, let alone taken such account of him. Lehnsherr shook his head in wonder, trying to clear the vision.

"How can you feel like that? I'm a stranger to you."

Xavier still hung on to the bedpost. His eyes were clear and serious. "I told you: I know you. I know your mind, Mr. Lehnsherr. When you stepped onto that train, I felt it, shining bright like - like an electric lamp in a sea of candles." He reached out then, touching his hand to Lehnsherr's forearm. His skin was warm, even though the layers of clothing. "Please, stay. Even if it's only for a few days. Isn't friendship preferable to being alone?"

Lehnsherr hesitated for only a few moments. "All right," he said. "I'll stay."

* * *

Lehnsherr awoke that night to the soft creak of the hinges as the door to his room opened, and someone stepped inside and shut the door behind them again. The footsteps were quiet but still bold and assured. After all, Lehnsherr thought, Xavier already knew he was awake.

The steps stopped beside the bed. Lehnsherr sat up and lit the candle on the nightstand, and then looked up at Xavier's glimmering face. "Well?" he said. "What are you waiting for?"

Xavier's smile curled at the edge of his lips, in something Lehnsherr thought might be self-mockery. "I _was_ going to ask permission first," he said.

"Really," said Lehnsherr. "I hadn't gathered that was something you often made a habit of." He pushed down the blankets beside him in invitation, and Xavier took him up on it immediately, climbing into the bed next to him with a laugh.

"Are you accusing me of being forward?" Xavier teased. 

Their faces were close together like this, and Lehnsherr could feel the warmth of Xavier's breath as he exhaled. He reached out his hand to Xavier's face, feeling the strong bones beneath his palm, the soft skin and prickly stubble of his whiskers. He had a sudden vision of Xavier shaving in the morning - of _him_ shaving Xavier, using his ability to control the sharp heavy razor, small and steady strokes against that pale and unprotected flesh. There was something strangely thrilling about the idea, and he could tell Xavier felt it too, from the way Xavier trembled so subtly under his hand.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Xavier's throat, feeling the pulse jumping against the skin. 

"Kiss me on my mouth," Xavier said softly, almost a whisper, and Lehnsherr obeyed.

When their lips disengaged, Xavier said in a breathless voice, "I couldn't find any face paint, I'm afraid." It was unexpected enough that it took Lehnsherr a moment to comprehend his meaning, but when he did, he growled playfully and then attacked. They wrestled together, laughing, across the massive bed. It ended with Xavier on his back, pinned down completely by Lehnsherr's weight. His arms were splayed on either side of his body, and Lehnsherr held each of his wrists in one hand, enjoying the way his fingers could encompass the entirety of that circle of Xavier's solid bones.

Xavier moved beneath him - not struggling, precisely, Lehnsherr thought, but learning the limits and extent of Lehnsherr's hold. When he had found it to his satisfaction, he relaxed again, waiting. Trusting.

 _I do trust you_ , Xavier said within Lehnsherr's head. _My friend, my dear, my darling. Don't you believe me yet?_

"I don't believe easily," Lehnsherr said. Was it an explanation or a warning? Xavier's eyes went soft.

"This is the truth. Look as much as you want, but there are no tricks up my sleeve," Xavier said. "Take all the time you need to be satisfied."

Lehnsherr kissed him again, very thoroughly. At some point he freed Xavier's hands, for one was in Lehnsherr's hair and another on his shoulder, both of them pulling him in closer, his body flush against Xavier's at tight as they could fit them together. 

"Charles-" Lehnsherr said, "Charles, Charles-" and Xavier shushed him gently, and then they were both quiet, two bodies moving together as one, company and comfort in the infinity and mystery of the night.


	2. Epilogue: Several Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles has a very particular appetite which Erik is happy to indulge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unnecessary, not-quite-porny interlude. Because what is the point of a Victorian AU if there's no paddling or caning?

Charles lay atop the bedclothes, sprawled on his belly, his head resting on his folded arms. There was a sense of languor, of drowsy self-satisfaction that always came upon Charles after coitus, and which Erik held rather close to his heart. There was something utterly compelling about it, Charles's lazy body, exhausted by their mutual efforts. Erik couldn't help but admire the ruffled mess of Charles's hair, usually so neatly contained; the surprisingly broad expanse of his back, and the freckles between his shoulder blades; and of course, his tempting round arse - always a lovely sight, but how much more like this, with the contrast of the reddened marks of the paddle against Charles's milk-pale skin?

Erik sat down on the bed beside Charles. Charles turned his head to him and smiled, even as his eyes fluttered softly shut. Erik ran his hand slowly down Charles's backside, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back and finally down to his rear. The skin there was still hot to the touch, and though Erik was careful to be gentle, Charles let out a small sound, even as he arched up against the touch like a pleased housecat.

It was not the first time they had done this - with Erik's open hand, with a hairbrush, with a paddle - and yet it still surprised Erik, the clear enjoyment Charles received from the act. Erik, too, had been beaten often enough as a child, and he had often enough been in fights and brawls and other forms of violence during those years, but there was no erotic charge for him, either in the receiving of pain or in the inflicting. The first time, Erik had not thought he would enjoy it at all, in fact - but he had not prepared for the sight of Charles, braced against the footboard of the bed, losing himself in his own pleasure, even spending himself loudly against the dark wood without even a touch upon his prick. His pleasure in those moments was Erik's pleasure, too, for Charles couldn't help but share it all, too much to stay trapped alone in his own mind. Erik knew, exactly, how and when Charles came undone.

There was something thrilling about being able to be the one to give Charles what he desired, and what he needed; and, too, something fulfilling about knowing the exact depths of Charles's perversions and deviancy, the utter delicious dichotomy between the proper, innocent gentleman he was to the outside world and the mewling depraved creature he could become in their private moments. How heady, to know someone so well.

Erik leaned over, pressing a kiss to Charles's naked shoulder, and Charles sighed beneath him. "You're so good to me, love," Charles murmured. "Although..."

The combination of amusement and affection he felt for Charles, when for any other living thing it would surely be irritation - Erik didn't believe he would ever understand it. "Yes?"

"Perhaps next time, a whip?" Charles said, a cloud of hope following the words that Erik felt directly in his own mind.

Erik ran his fingers softly through Charles's hair. "Perhaps," he said.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Marvels and Skeptics (The Destiny Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/818757) by [heyjupiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter)
  * [The Haunting on Graymalkin Lane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562483) by [keire_ke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke)




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